


Holding on for a Christmas Miracle

by Renee561



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Antarctica, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Outpost, POV Alternating, Penguins, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/pseuds/Renee561
Summary: Having accepted a career opportunity to the furthest point South on any map, Brienne Tarth knows that Chritmas time is a time for miracles.Hope was a funny thing. This was her last chance of it. Miracles could still happen.





	Holding on for a Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kittles123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/gifts).



> Hello! 
> 
> This work is a gift to the lovely lady, Kittles123. Her work is stunning and the words she chose for the Secret Santa gave me pause. 
> 
> Her words were: Antarctica, penguins, outpost. 
> 
> I truly hope that you like this and since it's inception has only grown to be a multi-chapter fic! 
> 
> I also want to think the lovely ladies over at the JB fourm for this wonderful opportunity to join them in spreading holiday cheer. 
> 
> I want to specifically thank mel_sanfo and seaspiritwrites for betaing and helping me polish this. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

She stared blankly at the card, her pen poised to write words, but they wouldn’t come. It had been nearly a year and not once had she gotten a letter, card, or even a call. Phone service was scarce because of the remoteness of the continent, but mail was semi-frequent, and for the first six months she came twice a month looking, and _hoping,_ that he'd write at least. He _promised_ her, after all.   _A Lannister Always Pays his Debts_ , he constantly told her. She’d received letters from her father, and her other friends, but not him.

 

He was probably having the time of his life, going out every night, enjoying the freedom he now possessed since she had taken this opportunity. Here she was in Antarctica, studying and photographing penguins! It was exciting, exhilarating even, and cold, but the technology helped to not freeze off any body parts. Mostly. If one didn’t remove any layers. There was that Tormund fellow who liked to swim nude and always extended her the invitation to join him. No, she'd rather liked her body parts attached and circulating properly.

 

Not to mention, even if it was for a swim in the hot tub, she'd decline. She wasn't interested in anyone. Well, anyone _here_ anyway. Only in a man she knew would never be hers and who hadn’t even written to her, even though she must have sent dozens, maybe hundreds of letters during those first six months.

 

Until she stopped.

 

She stopped sending out letters after eight months and no replies. After that, she’d only come once a month to check for the other letters; two months ago she’d stopped hoping he’d write her. There would be nothing from Jaime.

 

She stared at the paper next to the card, thinking it was ridiculous that she was even doing this, but it'd been so long since she felt anything besides sadness. She _needed_ hope. Something to cling to for the next month. Her contract was for a year. A year and then, if she wanted, she could stay for another five. She wanted to. She wanted a lot of things; maybe this she could actually have.

 

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She was only doing what millions of children were doing.

 

Brienne Tarth was writing to Santa Clause.

 

The make-believe figure millions of children around the world believed existed, until their parents crushed their hope with reality by the time they were teenagers. Forced them to understand the difference between make-believe and reality. Fiction and the real world. Something Brienne learned early in her life.

 

As a child, she’d had a nanny who took special delight in crushing her spirit. She was five when she was told her mother and sisters were dead, eight when her brother drowned, and ten when her father got sick for the first time. That same year, she’d been told that Santa wasn't real. He was only a figment of childish fantasy. She was thirteen when her nanny was fired, but the damage had been done.

 

Her self-esteem was nonexistent, and her heart scarred beyond what a child’s should be, leaving her with only  a soul aching to find any type of hope, even if it didn’t exist for the likes of her. She'd always tried to look at the good in every situation, but the darkness, the realism, was at times too much. Much too large and too prevalent in her daily life to ignore it for too long.

 

That was why she, a thirty-three-year-old woman, was writing to Santa Clause, a fable for children, to bring her the one thing she needed at a time like this.

 

 _Hope_.

 

Taking a deep breath, Brienne felt her lungs burn from the cold, dry air. She let it fill her whole body before releasing it. She could clearly see her breath, despite the fact she was inside the outpost.

 

She looked at the card, and at the paper she had pre-written earlier, figuring it would be easier to just copy the words onto the card.  Nodding to herself, she began to write the letter, pausing frequently to double check her work and to shake her head at how utterly ridiculous this all was. Though, each time, she clenched her jaw and continued writing.

 

_Dear Santa,_

_I tried to be good this year. I feel as though I missed the mark as I always do. I left my ailing father again, I left my friends. Though I tried to make amends through writing to them frequently. But is that selfish? Does doing something for myself make me get on the naughty list?_

_I have done many things that are hopefully good for the penguins and my career. We started tagging them to keep track of nests and to track migrations, as well as the numbers of each species. According to past statistics the Emperor Penguin is in near threatened status due to their breeding grounds being reduced. We are trying to figure out a solution and help raise their numbers! I want to see this species flourish, though I’m aware that the global climate change prevents them and others from finding nesting grounds and their food sources are are also becoming harder to find, or they are traveling longer distances._

_I’m supposed to sign my contract for another five years next month, and Santa, I’d much rather not rush into a decision. This year has been amazing, and fantastic for me in my professional life, as you might be aware. Before, I was doing this work at the Reach Zoo, until this opportunity fell into my lap. I took it and ran as far south as you are north. But, Santa, I don’t really know what to ask for Christmas. I’d like my father’s health to get better, but after twenty-odd years, I doubt that will be within your realm of possibility. I suppose what I want for Christmas most of all is..._ ”

 

She paused.

 

On the paper, she’d written something utterly foolish and now couldn’t begin to write out the words a second time. The action of transferring them to the card would make it real, make it official. Maybe she would be locked in an asylum for her idiocy.

 

Brienne looked around the outpost to make sure her colleagues weren't around to mock her. They did that. It’d been going on her whole life. She was always mocked or ridiculed for her looks, her passions, her hobbies, her size, her very existence. She couldn’t help but wish for Jaime to be there at that very moment.  

 

She bit her lip to hold back her tears and closed her eyes to center her thoughts. He was someone she missed more than words could say. Obviously, he didn’t miss her enough to write, even during Christmastime.

 

He was her best friend; he never denied himself the pleasure of teasing her, calling her wench, always goading her into a rage. Despite all of that, he made her feel human, alive, and so many other dangerous one-sided emotions. He was the only man, besides Renly Baratheon, to stick by her for her own sake and not for a laugh.

 

When this opportunity had fallen into her lap, she grabbed it with both hands and ran with it. Away from her friends, away from her father, away from _him._ Away from what could only lead her heart to shatter again.

 

After she made her mistakes with Renly, she told herself she wouldn’t go down that path again.

 

Brienne _refused_ to do it again. Refused to subject herself, even for a minute, to the belief that her dreams of romance, love, and a family could ever come true with him, or with anyone. He was Jaime _fucking_ Lannister, as Bronn would say. He was the unattainable moon. And she was stupid for thinking, even inside her own head, he could possibly value her as more than a friend or coworker.

 

She glared harshly at the letter and decided that she had indeed been stupid, especially as she now wrote the words: _I suppose_ _what I want for Christmas most of all is Jaime. Just Jaime._

 

Far from being a lie, it wasn't really acceptable, nor would it happen. Not even a Christmas myth could make her have hope that he'd write to her, let alone come to have feelings for her. She sniffed and wiped at her suddenly wet cheek.

 

She tore the paper and was about to tear the card into tiny pieces, but she stopped. It was stupid, childish, and completely insane. _But_ it was Christmas. And somehow the sappy Christmas movies Jaime loved so much, could fleetingly convince her that miracles happen at Christmas. Seven years ago this month was when she met Jaime Lannister, six since they’d become friends, and three since she realized that she was hopelessly in love with him.

 

It was last year that she had decided to go for it. She had worked up the nerve, but seeing Jaime with a beautiful woman, who was freely touching him, had made her reconsider. Tywin Lannister had presented her with an opportunity of a lifetime mere days before. Go to Antarctica for a year to do research for the zoo and then, in a year, discuss whether to make the move for another five. An opportunity she had considered turning down.

 

Instead of confessing her attraction, she’d told Jaime about the career opportunity that had been offered. When he asked her if he could change her mind, she had been even more determined to leave.

 

She couldn’t torture herself watching Jaime fall madly in love, with her constantly hoping that he would wake up and see her standing there. She had to find something to do, something that she could have. _A career_. If she couldn’t have a family, or love, she’d have a career.

 

Deciding against shredding the card, she stuck it in an envelope and wrote in her neat script _Santa_ on it. Debating to send it out would have to wait; she needed rest. Grabbing the envelope, she made her way to her quarters. Not even bothering to change, she stuck the letter atop the others, snuggled into her warm furs, and closed her eyes to rest.

 

It took all of two seconds for the self-doubt and annoyance to come to the forefront of her brain. It only took a minute for her to come to the conclusion that what she’d done was not only foolish, but completely bonkers!  

 

It was stupid and childish of her to even think of doing such a thing, let alone actually going through with it! She was a grown woman, by the Seven! No, the letter must be destroyed.

\--

Jaime Fucking Lannister glared at the wall. His year had been shit. He had an accident at work that resulted in his right hand losing most of its feeling, and his father had sent his best friend off to fucking Antarctica. His injury left him unable to write, so couldn’t respond to the letters that she sent, which made him long for her presence. He wanted to fly to her and proclaim his undying love. With each letter he read, the more he itched to leave the Westerlands and go south—further than Dorne, further than anyone should ever go. Even for a strategic career move, he would never go that far south, or north, or anyplace he'd have to wear so many layers and still feel the cold seep into his bones! Why she’d left was a mystery to him.

 

It seemed so impersonal to him to type a letter, even though he could with one hand. He knew she didn’t have any internet, or reliable cell service, so he languished in torture. He wanted to write about so many things. The accident, his recovery, his feelings, his plans for their future.

 

Yet he refrained until he could write with his hand again.  He’d never been able to swallow his pride and have Tyrion write to her about his hand. That should come from Jaime, not his little brother.

  


He had meant to do it sooner, to tell her his feelings, but as the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned into four years, he knew he would never have the courage. He couldn’t risk his heart without a hint that she could reciprocate his feelings. Then Cersei showed up, his ex-girlfriend once again attempting to control his life as she always had. It had been the day he planned to try and see if Brienne could be interested in him. After the encounter, he went home and decided to try again later in the week.

 

When he attempted to broach the topic, another wrench was thrown in his plans: Brienne decided to take an offered research position in Antarctica...for a year, possibly six!

 

He wanted to scream at the unfairness of that moment, but then he quickly resigned himself to a year of distance. Maybe he was wrong about his feelings. He and Brienne were close, too close at times. They worked and saw each other every day during their work and nonworking hours.

 

In the end,  he discovered that it hadn’t been seeing each other daily, or all the time, that made him feel these things. Rather, he felt her absence like he felt the nerves in his hand severed. And he felt it even more when the letters stopped coming.

 

Sipping his beer, he thought of his life for the next five years, without Brienne. Without her in his life, it would be a bleak existence. There’d be no laughter—things were boring and bland without her now, and five years would just kill him. No wench to tease or to make blush or glow red with anger. No blue eyes he could drown in. No one to slap sense into him when he took things too far or he was being too harsh unknowingly. Brienne wasn't just his best friend, or his coworker, or the woman he was in love with. She was his better half.

 

He had a phone call to make


End file.
